[DAY :043]

[nirsighted]

[Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Late in the evening, the pervasive thrum of Nirad's mental presence returns to Bearings. It winds higher - unwrapping, lengthening, widening: small flashes of silver, memories like the scales of so many fish glimpsed through the lapping water of some distance, unfamiliar water. A wet street reflects the glow of neon signs above it; a doorway, rain drizzling off the landing above it; a stream of traffic glittering through the half light--]

( Hi. We're back from following that Ahtaliah Ven guy. Aoba's head is hurting him so he's going to take a break I think but I guess I can tell you what we saw? )

[He doesn't sound hesitant so much as he does distracted.]

( Honestly I didn't see anything very interesting, but maybe it was a bad day for him? Maybe you can't be a bad guy every day of the week, right? Anyway, he worked pretty late then me and Aoba followed his car to a place where he got dinner. It's a nice car. He met with someone there. A lady. A friend, I think, but I don't really know. Maybe we should have followed her instead though because after they had dinner, Ven went home. So we have his address and how to get access to his building and I know which apartment he lives in and if we wanted to get in it seems like it might be pretty easy because he spends so much time at work, you know? I'm sure he's got some super high tech security at home but it's not like he owns the building so it's probably just inside his penthouse or whatever. Uh. Yeah. )

[BUZZZZZZZZZZZZ.]

Comments

[vocalis]

[ She is like a drug. She would know, as she shows him all the horrible things pumped into her, into the other poor souls of her wretched world. He sinks into the fire of her mind, the memories of pain and chaos like a lullaby to him.

To Scrap.

He watches the way each living thing is picked off with an odd sense of comfort. Life continues even here, but he takes more pleasure in surveying the twisted ways it all eventually comes back to a miserable end. It's horribly imbalanced here, and he delights in it. With every new destructive act witnessed, he's inspired. There is a creativity to even the simplest destruction. When something is broken, it's energy is changed. He feeds off that energy, growling for more, always insatiable.

There is so much more variety than the chaos his world, that tiny locked-in island. On a place like Pandora, he could've been and done so much more. Destroyed so much, and it would have been nothing but another part of the planet's daily cycle, horrible in it's normalcy.

Eventually the pain of her memories and the real pain in his own head begin to overpower him. As wonderfully twisted as all of Pandora is, it's overwhelming. Sinking deeper, he falls when the screams reach a deafening pitch and the fires burn so hot he can no longer feel.

Asleep in the presence of a fiery Angel. ]

[circumspector]

[ She smoothes the hair away from his face, soft, gently brushes as she bears him down in the white noise of all that suffering. Where his mind can be in turned with the bloody sand like he ought to be. Humming, careful now, no need to startle him. How he goes like a child that has had too long a day and finds himself exhaustedly clinging to a comfort. Lets him hold as tight to the misery she constructs around him until he cannot hold any later.

Then, for the other, she leans in gently, kissing his forehead, like the sister she felt to him. Making sure he was settled in something comforting as his other half destruction.

Later, she will think on this. Like Krieg, she supposes, something brutal and insane and destructive, but still - still hanging on to the rest of him. Hums, perhaps she was suited to him too, after all. She would never turn away from either of them, Aoba ( either of his halves ) or Petre, not after Parker the first time. Not for this thing that gave her life where everything else only sought to take it away. It wanted to be close to them, so she let them be. There would never be a question how she drew them in as tightly as she could.

Pulls away from his mind, lets the memories fall away, shaking herself of the worst of the violence that was inherent, worn out, exhausted with the force of it.

Then she reaches out again, to a different person this time. Tired sounding, now. ]

( Nirad? )

[nirsighted]

[He isn't so tired, isn't so worn thin. This is-- normal. It's normal for things to be broken and jittering, for things to wobble or pull. A small boat anchored by a worn rope, snapping hard on its tie as the waves under it rise and fall, as they tug and push and cajole. When she calls for him, his mind turns to her directly. The buzzing presence of it expands--]

( Hi. )

[Easy enough. There aren't any barriers to him.]